After Everything
by ihadtoputitsomewhere
Summary: There's something about the shoes. Always running, mind and body. He can't ever stop, see, but he did this to himself right? He deserves this, he deserves the anxiety and the sleep that either never comes or cuts through him like a KA-BAR, leaving him open and bleeding and gasping for air.


There's something about the shoes. Always running, mind and body. He can't ever stop, see but he did this to himself right? He deserves this, he deserves the anxiety and the sleep that either never comes or cuts through him like a KA-BAR, leaving him open and bleeding and gasping for air.

"Just keep hold of these." Madani had told him as she tossed him his boots. She basically told him he could never stop running, never stop and she had no clue just how fucking right she was.

So he never takes them off. When he's at Curt's house, or David's or even his own. They stay on unless he's in the shower or in bed, and even then sometimes he doesn't make it that far.

There's a hole in the wall his bed is up against from one of the times he woke up fighting, his steel toe busting through it like cardboard.

There was something about the discomfort that kept him grounded, something about the stiffness and the way his boots sounded when they hit the pavement, it keeps him moving, right? The only peace of mind he allows himself is knowing he could up and run at any time, combat ready in any situation. Even if that situation is knocking back Bud heavy in Curtis' kitchen. Bonus, he'd have a medic on hand.

But the first time Frank knocked on Karen's door, he came in heaving and limping and bleeding (all over her floor, and that couch is fucked) and the first thing she did was sit him down and take off his shoes. And she didn't just unzip them right, because that would be too simple. No she fucking knelt down and _unlaced_ his boots, Christ she even took her time with it. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Even his socks were soaked in blood.

A soft, "Come on," were the only words spoken, as she helped him up and led him to the bathroom. _Her _bathroom. There was something oddly intimate about it, like seeing her zit cream and hair dryer on the bathroom sink was an invasion of privacy. He would probably care a lot more if he wasn't so lightheaded. Is everything spinning or is it just him? She caught it though, of course she did, and sat him on the toilet before he had the chance to fully welcome the unconsciousness.

And he sat there, tired and mumbling mostly to himself. She caught a few "sorry's" but she wasn't sure what for. Tears fell but he didn't know why. It really didn't hurt so bad anymore. She shushed him quietly, repeating the same words until they got through.

"You're okay, just breathe," She wiped the blood from his face, clearing the way so see the real damage and placed a hand on the side of his face to steady him, careful, always careful.

She put 4 stitches in an ugly gash above his left eyebrow, 7 in the one on his bicep, 16 in the one on his side and 12 in the one on his thigh. She needed to remember to get more black thread before his next visit. He barely noticed she had finished patching him up; all he could process was how warm her hand had felt on his skin, but then again he was sitting on her toilet in his wife beater with his pants around his ankles. Not exactly how he pictured this encounter going down. Still, he secretly wished he had more cuts for her to stitch up, just so she would touch him like that again. So fucking unbelievably gentle. He didn't do that anymore, he didn't get to do that anymore. The kind of touch he used to crave from Maria, the kind that wasn't meant for sex but for healing. When she died her touch went with her, something Frank never thought he deserved but grieved over anyway.

But here he was, sitting in her bathtub with his bare ass out and his knees as close to his chest as he could get them. Thank god for deep tubs and for all this fancy ass soap because he didn't have the energy to worry about covering his junk. He was shaking and covered in blood and he didn't even know how much of it was his but she was pumping lavender body wash onto a loofah and it occurred to Frank that he hadn't used one of those since home.

"Okay, so," she broke through his thoughts. "I need to get this blood off, and I don't want to make this worse because I don't exactly know if you're good with this or in good enough shape to even…give consent? I guess? I guess that's where I'm going. But if you want me to leave you alone to try and do this yourself, now's the time to let me know, otherwise I'm diving in." She waited. "Frank?" Soft but genuine. She needed to know.

"Stay." It was barely a sound, more of a grunt. His voice sounded like had swallowed broken glass.

"You sure?" She pressed, but when he met her eyes she knew he was.

"-'m good. Stay."

And so she did. She used that loofah and more of that lavender shit than she probably needed but she was as nervous as he was exposed so the solution was more soap. She got his arms and legs first, those were easiest. When she brought the sponge over the back of his neck to wash the blood out of his hair he shuddered and dropped his head on instinct, tucking further into himself. He wanted to be so small he disappeared but he also so desperately wanted to be right here.

She washed down his back, careful to avoid the gash on his right side. He couldn't still his breathing when she dragged across his shoulders. How was she still so goddamn soft? He was still shaking, shuddering like he was freezing even though the water bordered on too hot. She shushed him almost subconsciously. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on her hands instead of the fact that he couldn't breathe. She asked once if he wanted her to stop, but he declined. She thinks he knows he needs this as much as she does; no way he does it on his own in this state. She pumped the soap twice more and tilted his head back slightly.

"Close your eyes for me."

She washed the last of the blood out of his hair and watched as his mouth fell open, just a little. His hair was getting long on top; she would have to cut it again soon. He was always good at keeping the sides clean but he could never get the hang of the top. Karen unhooked the shower head and flipped a switch by the drain. As she rinsed his hair he tilted his head back further and finally, _finally,_ let out a long, (almost) steady breath. He swallowed the lump in his throat and told himself Karen wasn't paying attention to the tears that slipped down his cheeks. Again with this crying for no reason bullshit. He kicked himself for getting so goddamn sensitive. She surprised him by pressing a hand to his cheek and pulling him in towards her, kissing his temple and maybe lingering for just a second.

"All done."

Frank hadn't even heard the water shut off.

Karen helped him out of the tub and grabbed him a towel. His stuff was a pile of blood and fabric; she'd deal with that later. She led him to her room and sat him on her bed and he felt like he was breaking the rules again. She dug out a pair of sweats she usually gave to Matt when he needed to crash. She might have picked out her favorite sweatshirt too, the one that was a triple XL, used mostly without pants when she had a day off. She got out a pair of Halloween themed fuzzy socks too just in case, because they were warm as fuck and what psychopath doesn't like fuzzy socks.

"I was going to make some tea, unless you need some help getting dressed."

"Nah, I uh, I think I got it. Tea sounds good." He looked up at her, blood smeared in a couple places on her shirt, her face. She seemed like she was used to it and that, that hurt deep.

"Thank you. For this, I'm sorry, I mean, all this. I don't—" He cleared his throat, "Just uh, just, thanks."

She didn't exactly smile, but her eyes softened enough that he saw it anyway.

"You're welcome." Always so fucking soft. She shut the door and he got dressed. It took him double the time it usually does but he didn't bust any stitches so, silver linings right?

They drank tea and he slept on the couch. He was gone when she woke up but he made sure to make a fresh pot of coffee before he left.

But it was different with him.


End file.
